


Sensei

by desfinado



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-24
Updated: 2009-01-24
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desfinado/pseuds/desfinado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kakashi was there for Sasuke’s revenge. But wasn’t that obvious? Sasuke had created him, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensei

**Author's Note:**

> Set after manga chapter 307.

His first year in the Sound, Sasuke was adjusting.  
  
Not to the minor social and physical changes, because overcoming such adjustments was an important part of his training—the training he came here specifically to do—training to become _powerful_. But he came to the Sound to learn from Orochimaru, and Sasuke was finding it hard. As a sensei, the man was knowledgeable, but he was entirely too interested in his own projects. He would show Sasuke a new technique and then leave him for weeks to master it alone.  
  
“You are Konoha’s genius rookie,” he replied when Sasuke grabbed his shoulder roughly one day, sharingan swirling in anger as he demanded that Orochimaru pay attention and _train him_ already. “I have invited you here because I believe you’re capable of learning the details yourself, _Sasuke-kun_.” The undertones of this statement were not lost on Sasuke—however, it was never his intention to live up to the man’s expectations, nor was he here to impress him. But it remained that he could not force Orochimaru to do anything the man did not want to do.  
  
So Sasuke took one of those comments from him to heart: he _was_ Konoha’s genius rookie, and that meant he should be able to figure out the most efficient method for his own training.  
  
At first, Sasuke made use of the supplies in Orochimaru’s facility: dummies and posts mostly, sometimes targets for throwing shuriken. But soon he found the lack of a sparring partner made it difficult to discern his own weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Sasuke wouldn’t allow himself to consider that he might have been receiving _better_ training in Konoha; he created shadow clones instead, having witnessed Naruto’s jutsu enough times with his sharingan to copy it. He found he had nowhere near the chakra required to sustain a clone for an entire day while it was also performing jutsus, but if it was engaging him only in taijustu, it was sufficient.  
  
Sasuke learned a lot this way. Through the clone training, he came to understand the lines of his own body that much better, learning the arc of his back flip, the span of his arms, and the path of his roundhouse kicks. In many ways this improved his own self-awareness in battle, allowing him to anticipate his safe and vulnerable spaces that much more easily. But in training, he needed a partner whose body space and movements he could _not_ anticipate; someone who kept him on his toes.  
  
Sasuke began to make his clones transform into the faces and bodies of nameless villagers or shinobi he’d seen throughout his life. But he found that their movements were still his own, as he didn’t know them well enough to emulate anything else. He refused to use the shapes of those genin from Konoha whose faces signified everything he wanted to leave behind. Becoming powerful relied specifically on his ability to sever those ties; he would not play at sparring with them, reenacting memories of a more naïve and wasteful time in his life. Considering his past, however, forced Sasuke to acknowledge one aspect of his training in Konoha that he found he could not categorize as a complete waste: Kakashi.  
  
Sasuke had never felt much of an attachment to his former sensei, and thought rarely—if ever—of him while here in the Sound. Yet when he did, Sasuke found it was often to recall advice and training that the jounin had provided him and that still served him well.  
  
Sasuke never felt like anyone in Konoha particularly understood him, and that suited him fine—he would have been insulted if they had implied as much. But when he began his genin training, he recognized the importance of a sensei becoming at least _familiar_ with him, to train him in a way best suited to his own strengths. Sasuke acknowledged that Kakashi had trained him more effectively than his former senseis, and as such must have gained some understanding of Sasuke’s skills as a ninja.  
  
He was cold and detached, which Sasuke appreciated, seeming to reserve emotions for a place off the battlefield. He was calculating and strategic, and shared little of his own life with his students, even as Sasuke recalled how much Naruto and Sakura shared so unabashedly with him. His history with the sharingan was still a mystery to Sasuke, but despite the anger he felt that one outside the Uchiha clan should command its greatest power, he recognized that Kakashi used it selectively and extremely well. Their similar affinity with lightning-element techniques was certainly an advantage—and when Sasuke approached him to train for the chuunin exam, Kakashi was willing and efficient, keeping to himself except to provide Sasuke with the attention and training he required. Really, Sasuke felt that was the training best suited for him—the training that Orochimaru could not provide.  
  
So Sasuke decided to provide it himself.  
  
In battle, his clones obviously could not use any of Kakashi’s unique techniques. But Sasuke found it an improvement over the assortment of random men he had been creating before. Almost as if by instinct, his body reacted to fighting with this copy of his former sensei, working harder and more carefully. Seeing the jounin on a regular basis seemed to jog his memory, and often when looking into that single focused grey eye Sasuke would be struck with something Kakashi had said to him in training—pull your elbow in when you draw up the chakra, or never let your enemy see your next move in your eyes, or toss your shuriken during your _katon_ to catch your enemy unaware.  
  
In those months, Sasuke felt himself improve much more quickly. Some days he would finish sparring with the Kakashi-clone and continue to practice with one of the training dummies, leaving the clone to slouch against the wall, eyes darting up from behind an orange book every so often. Somehow the feeling of his sensei, a powerful jounin, watching him train pushed him harder, made him suck in breaths through stabbing pains in his side and go for just that much longer, unwilling to give up. Silver-grey hair shifted in his peripheral vision and he’d catch the clone tilting his head, appraising him.  
  
Sasuke understood it was all psychological—the man with the broad shoulders and long, lean frame hunched over that book was not in fact an ex-ANBU shinobi who could have him flat on his back in mere seconds were he to make a wrong move. Sasuke was Konoha’s genius rookie—he realized that body was merely his own in disguise, capable of no more and no less than he himself. But his eyes and brain played the trick on him anyway, fear prickling down his spine in a moment in which he accidentally exposed his back to the other man in a spar, expecting the uncoiling of immense strength from the toned muscles under those clothes, the sharp movements of a former assassin always seeming to trail at Sasuke’s heels.  
  
The problem with his new training method was that Sasuke did not feel comfortable with anyone else knowing. They would not understand that Sasuke used Kakashi’s body as nothing more than a placebo for his senses; it simply exercised his reaction time and drive to improve. But to Orochimaru it might indicate bonds he was unable to sever or allegiances he was unable to denounce—and Sasuke understood that he had to meet those basic requirements of Orochimaru to be able to remain under his roof.  
  
This proved easy enough to manage, however—once Sasuke was given a new technique to practice, he was left alone. Comings and goings in the base revolved mostly around the medical labs and cells that Kabuto oversaw, and any unexpected visit from Orochimaru was easy enough to accommodate by quickly changing his clone back into the familiar planes of his own body.  
  


* * *

  
  
Somewhere between the fourteenth and fifteenth months of his stay in the Sound, Sasuke’s honed training method was disrupted by preparations for a regional battle. Sound shinobi and others faithful to or recruited by Orochimaru were coming through the base regularly to use the two training spaces—and Sasuke did not appreciate the close company. Often he would retreat to his quarters, where he moved his cot to the far corner of the room in order to avoid damaging anything other than the already-blackened stone of the walls and floor.  
  
“Your shoulder,” Kakashi remarked matter-of-factly in that bored tone that Sasuke’s clone copied easily. Sasuke glanced up and realized it had in fact remained vulnerable through his entire sequence with his katana.  
  
“ _Shit_ ,” he muttered, not lifting his eyes from the floor as he slid the sword back into its hilt and retraced his steps slowly, pausing at each stage. “Is it here?” He asked as he stood, knees bent, and held the sword in an arc across his back. Kakashi remained silent, a reflection on his personality—or Sasuke’s, or both—that he was waiting for Sasuke to figure it out first. “Or…” Sasuke turned into the next step, sword slashing down in front of him in a smooth line to rest, quivering, in the gut of an invisible enemy, “here. No, I need to—”  
  
Sasuke tensed as he felt a hand fall onto his upper arm, loose shirt bunched under a gloved palm, nails of bare fingertips pinching the skin underneath the fabric slightly. He kept his position, suspicious eyes turning to his clone. Kakashi’s face was unreadable as always, a few strands of hair settling back into place from his quick approach to Sasuke’s side.  
  
“This arm,” the jounin instructed, “comes down too high. You lose your peripheral vision, creating this blind spot.” Sasuke grunted in acknowledgement, beginning to pull his arm lightly out of that grasp when the fingers tightened slightly—just to let him know _I’m not done_ —and, grey eye locked on his, Kakashi pulled Sasuke's arm back to its starting position over and behind his head.  
  
“Yare, yare” he mused, “you’re not getting it. I’ll show you.” Sasuke narrowed his eyes at the clone, annoyed at it for taking liberties with its role as his mock-sensei by taking on Kakashi’s language too. Clones reflected their creator’s personality but Sasuke was slowly learning that, just as so many paths of action lie ahead of him like so many criss-crossing strings pulling him forward, clones could just as easily take one path of action as another.  
  
He allowed his body to remain pliant as Kakashi’s firm grip guided his arm through the path it should take, a palm coming to rest gingerly between his shoulder blades and applying enough pressure to remind Sasuke of the best pose from which to draw his strength. This was nothing Sasuke did not know, of course, but the ability of his clone to see it from an outside perspective was what he needed.  
  
He breathed deeply, eyes locked on the stone wall in front of him—blackened in the centre and fading towards the edges from errant flames—as Kakashi led him through the motions once more, guiding his body. The heat of the hand on his back and bicep was distracting, and reminded Sasuke of uncomfortable hugs from academy senseis, girls and—once, in a dark part of his memory that he tried to avoid—relatives.  
  
Passing through the motions, Sasuke accidentally bumped into Kakashi’s chest as he experimentally shifted his weight on his feet, and was suddenly inundated with the smell of sweat and something deeper that he knew was nothing more than his own body scent, somehow more noticeable coming off another’s skin. It reminded him of the smell of his childhood room in the Uchiha district, of burying his face in blankets in frustration after another attempt to train with his father and being turned down.  
  
“…Sasuke?” Sasuke’s eyes snapped up to that single grey one, eyebrow arched inquisitively, as he realized he had forgotten himself for a moment, the hands on his back and arm frozen as if about to shake him awake.  
  
“Hn,” Sasuke grunted, frustrated at himself for losing focus to remember the past, especially in a training situation. Lingering feelings of loss and anger had settled over him heavily, and he spun suddenly and lashed out at his clone, katana swinging fluidly and catching the light of the gas lantern resting by his bedside. Kakashi dodged it nimbly, leaping backwards and betraying no reaction in his masked face.  
  
“Not worth it,” Sasuke muttered after one more swipe of the sword. He sheathed it, eyes staring blankly into the flame flickering in the darkness. He moved towards the light, sitting lightly on the edge of the cot and resting his elbows on his knees, hands hanging limp, dark bangs falling into his face.  
  
These moments happened rarely, but Sasuke was beginning to realize that he could not stop them from happening completely. Sadness and grief, love and kinship were no longer things that motivated him—they were the things that he left behind in Konoha so that he could gain the power to kill his brother. But memories of his family were impossible to erase. Sasuke toed off his sandals and unbuckled his armguards, absently sliding his sword and its hilt up over his head to drop to the floor.  
  
What Sasuke needed more of was _hatred_. _Purpose_. Remembering those things that angered him, the way his father treated him, the way his brother brushed him aside, the way the clan was always pressuring him to live up to their expectations—they filled him with those feelings of frustration and rage that could allow him that extra chakra, that extra energy for one last attack in battle.  
  
Sasuke pushed himself backwards onto the bed until his back was up against the wall, shoulder blades two slightly uncomfortable points jutting into the stone, legs on the sparse comforter and his eyes focused on the space between his knees. Sasuke’s memories could be his power. Something that Orochimaru could neither give him nor take from him. Something no sensei could teach him to perfect. This was his _own_ power.  
  
Sasuke sighed, leaning his head back against the cool stone of the wall, hands slackening from the fists that had been curled up in the sheets on either side of his hips. His eyes lifted, unfocussed, and caught sight of the as-yet-forgotten form leaning up against the far wall, hands in his pockets, one leg bent with the sole of its foot flat against the wall. In the dark shades of the Konoha jounin outfit, he was well hidden in the shadows. There was no book in Kakashi’s hand—he was just watching Sasuke, face blank.  
  
Sasuke felt a flare of frustration at the clone’s presence—at Sasuke’s sick, weak need to _create_ him—and he quickly formed the seals that caused that slightly haunting form of his former sensei to dissipate. He took a deep breath as he waited for the clone’s experiences to return to him, by now quite used to the strange sensation of phantom bruises throbbing and sore limbs twitching briefly before it washed through him.  
  
Sasuke rolled onto his side and blew the lantern out in a puff of breath, pushing himself far enough down the cot to rest his body—the muscles, the organs, the nerves, the joints and synapses that comprised it—his only true weapon against the man he sought to fight.  
  


* * *

  
  
It was late October, and the heavily orchestrated regional war had come to a bloody close. Orochimaru had secured whatever allies he had been fighting for, presumably in places most advantageous to the operations he was undertaking in the countryside. Sasuke was not interested in the diplomacy and politics. He had been summoned to one meeting with local elite, and the formality of the attire, the traditional ceremony, and the blatant manipulation and deception in the words spoken on both sides—it had reminded him of nothing but his own family. He had excused himself and not returned.  
  
Sasuke was growing restless in the complex. He either ignored or snapped at anyone who approached him, and Orochimaru was no exception this evening when Sasuke was summoned to his chamber.  
  
“What is it,” Sasuke said coldly, standing in the doorway to the large but sparsely furnished room. The light from the hallway’s lanterns cast his body into a long shadow that stretched across the stone floor towards the man seated at a desk against the far wall.  
  
“Sasuke-kun.” Orochimaru folded his hands in his lap, back straight and that ever-present, sickly smile on his face. “We are relocating. Relations here have—” he glanced away for a moment but his expression did not change “—soured. I believe there are more resources available to us in other areas. I have another facility awaiting us.”  
  
Sasuke didn’t respond. He was used to Orochimaru imparting information—the other man was not looking for his opinion.  
  
“I believe you’ll find it satisfactory. It is more complex to navigate inside, but it will also be harder to infiltrate. You’ll learn quickly, I’m sure.” Orochimaru stood, walking over to a shelf, peering into shadowy jars lined up along it. He bent over one, displaying the knot of rope tied so delicately at his back. Sometimes he looked so young and fragile, but Sasuke knew better. He understood the power of misconception. “And Sasuke-kun…“ Orochimaru said, pausing as he continued to inspect the items on the shelf “I took the liberty of securing you a sparring partner, so that you may—”  
  
“I don’t need it. I’m here to train with _you_ and anything less is a waste of my time and energy,” Sasuke spat. He was getting more frustrated with Orochimaru’s inattentive nature every day.  
  
“Is it really?” The other man did not turn around but Sasuke narrowed his eyes at the smile in his voice. “Then the Copy Ninja must be an important part of your training regime.”  
  
Sasuke took a deep breath, not willing to let his surprise and humiliation show—after two years, he understood when Orochimaru was fishing for a reaction. And if anyone was adept at feigning indifference, it was Sasuke. “My training methods are irrelevant. I don’t need you throwing useless Sound shinobi at me, unless you want me to return them in a body bag. The only one here I am interested in sparring with is you.”  
  
Sasuke paused and, after receiving no further reply, turned on his heel and walked down the hall, measuring his steps to remain as calm as possible. He did not have to explain himself to that man—he was only a means towards Sasuke’s own ends.  
  
But as Sasuke reached the training area and drew his weapon, he noticed his hands coming together to form that familiar seal before he even realized it. He grunted and placed both hands firmly around the hilt of his sword, gripping it until his knuckles were white.  
  
He went through the sequence step by step—and alone.  
  


* * *

  
  
One night, Sasuke fell asleep before remembering to dispel the clone he had been training with. He only used them every week or two these days, wanting to reassure himself of his ability to navigate the path of his vengeance alone—but he couldn’t deny the value in a second set of eyes to identify his own mistakes once in a while.  
  
Sasuke had laid down on his sparse cot with the intention of resting, but the overuse of his new full-body chidori had worn him down more than he had expected, and the presence of nothing but his own chakra in the room gave him the sense of ease with which to drift asleep.  
  
When he awoke, Sasuke rolled onto his back, shoulder immediately coming into contact with something warm and solid. He opened his eyes in slits, shaking the sleep from his vision quickly, body tensing as he realized someone was sitting at the head of his bed, torso propped against the wall as legs stretched out beside him.  
  
Within the blink of an eye, Sasuke had a bent left knee pinning those thighs in place, right leg behind him and ready to spring forward or back if necessary, one hand holding two wrists up above them against the wall, the other pressing a kunai up against the thin dark blue fabric of a neck. When his swirling, sharingan-red eyes finally registered that grey stare leveled at him from mere inches away, the spine of a small hard-cover book digging into his hand up against the wall, Sasuke sat back on his haunches.  
  
“Hm.” He slipped the kunai back into its place within his clothes. “Why are you here?”  
  
“Same reason I always am,” Kakashi said in a neutral tone, “you created me.” Sasuke knew that the real Kakashi might have feigned a cheerful greeting just to frustrate him, but there was no way any clone of Sasuke’s was _ever_ going to go about grinning stupidly at people—in his old sensei’s body or not.  
  
“Yes, I did. For a reason.” Sasuke said shortly, implying that such a reason involved _training_ , not watching him sleep.  
  
“A reason,” Kakashi repeated slowly, but it sounded like an inquiry to Sasuke. Suspicious black eyes rose to meet his. “Of course.”  
  
“Are you doubting me?” Sasuke wasn’t sure why he was arguing with his own clone. It was a copy of his own mind—of course it understood why it was here, in this form. But, Sasuke realized, that also meant it had the same feelings of insecurity that Sasuke also had about this training method.  
  
“If you need me, that’s what I’m here for. Your revenge.”  
  
“Kakashi would never say that.” Sasuke muttered quickly as he glanced around the dark room, belatedly realizing how bizarre it sounded to correct his clone on the proper way to emulate a man he had not spoken to in over two years.  
  
“What would I say then?” It could have been a taunt or a compliant request, but Sasuke would never be able to tell. His clones had gotten quite comfortable copying the jounin’s indifferent drawl. He wasn’t even sure if his clone was doing it correctly—this whole part could be playing out absolutely wrong right now.  
  
Sasuke studied the legs stretched out before him that were clad in blue standard-issue pants, hems tucked into wrappings just below the knee. “He would tell me the most important things are my _precious companions_.” Sasuke frowned, feeling the ghost of thin wires strapped across his chest and his stomach, digging into his biceps, knobs of his spine uncomfortably forced into the trunk of the tree as Kakashi had lectured him, the day he left for the Sound. “But he didn’t understand. Any I had were taken from me—and now, to honour them, my path is clear.”  
  
“Absolutely.” Sasuke glanced up at Kakashi, who quickly amended, “but I would never say that.”  
  
“I’m not interested in Kakashi’s opinions about my path.” Sasuke sighed, rising up on his knees. He stretched a leg out over the two lying across his bed, hopping carefully over them to reach the floor on the other side, just barely brushing against that warm— _fabricated_ —body. “His role—” Sasuke glanced over his shoulder to meet that grey eye as he slipped his katana and sheath on over his clothes “— _your_ role, is to watch me train. Not sleep.”  
  
Kakashi’s body rose smoothly off the bed, and Sasuke had to acknowledge how comfortable his clones were getting in the jounin’s shape. The length of his limbs and use of only one eye seemed to be difficult for the first clones, as he had surmised from amassing their experiences when dispelled, but they were growing used to it. Sasuke wasn’t sure how that made him feel.  
  
He glanced up quickly when he heard the zip of the weapons pouch closing as that orange book was slipped back into place. He met the eye that gazed so indifferently at him, feeling that familiar prickling of humiliation across his neck at the idea of himself right now—Uchiha Sasuke, two years later, still playing genin with his old sensei in the privacy of his bedroom.  
  
“Whatever you say, that’s what I’m here to do.” Kakashi spoke evenly, as if to reassure him whom here was serving whom.  
  
“That’s right,” Sasuke said firmly, ignoring the simultaneous feelings of power and embarrassment those words gave him. “Now go.”  
  
He refused to look up from his fingers as he quickly formed the seal, so as to not allow himself the time to hesitate and consider training with the clone today. He had to keep some distance.  
  


* * *

  
  
Sasuke needed to move. His chakra reserves were low and his muscles buzzed with the sensation of adrenaline subsiding and tissues rebuilding, beginning to grow sore. He had been standing in the same position, hands at his sides, in this room for almost two hours—it had to be well past sunset by now. Orochimaru and Kabuto stood at the table in front of him, discussing their plans of action.  
  
It seemed that the Leaf had found them. And somehow, although he didn’t understand how he could be responsible for something he didn’t even _want_ to happen, it was because of Sasuke.  
  
“I believe that is the best choice, Orochimaru-sama,” Kabuto said softly, although Sasuke knew that Kabuto’s hardest words were often said in that tone.  
  
“Sasuke-kun.”  
  
He looked up into the yellow pupils that were now fixed on him.  
  
“Do you have any other information about this team and what their next steps might be?”  
  
“Nothing I haven’t already told you. You know their abilities now. I am unfamiliar with the wood or ink users. But they were not difficult to handle—I don’t think they are any threat.” Sasuke spoke calmly, hoping Orochimaru would grant him leave soon. He wanted to sleep. “They wouldn’t be an issue if you had allowed me to finish what I started,” he couldn’t help adding in an icy tone, noticing lately that he could get away with making his opinions more clear.  
  
“Hm.” Orochimaru chose not to respond, narrowing his eyes and returning his gaze to the documents spread on the table before him. “That’s quite enough, Sasuke-kun. Goodnight.”  
  
Sasuke left without a word, footsteps echoing in the empty hallways as he made his way into the hidden wing to find an empty room—his previous quarters were now no more than rubble, and the heightened risk of infiltration had them forced to use the section of the base cloaked in Orochimaru’s traps and jutsus. Sasuke sighed as he glanced into a few rooms, settling on one far enough away from any other occupied areas. They would have to relocate to yet _another_ facility now.  
  
He toed off his sandals and carefully removed his armguards and weapons, lying down stiffly on the bed and turning to face the wall. He closed his eyes, but the exhaustion in his limbs refused to catch up with him. All he saw were those stupid, gaping faces. Faces of hope, of hurt, of pride. They hadn’t changed at all. He had stood there on the lip of that crater of rocks, gazing down at them, and had honestly felt nothing. Sasuke didn’t even feel like their peer anymore. They were matched in their sixteen years but Naruto and Sakura knew nothing of the power and skill he had amassed. And for them to be wasting theirs chasing him down, dragging even more righteous, ever-stubborn Konoha shinobi with them—he pitied them.  
  
Sasuke sighed and flipped onto his back, tracing the crescent shapes of the carvings in the stone ceiling. He was tired from the battle, but something was still burning hotly inside of him, his senses convinced that he remained in the midst of a spar, attuned to every noise and movement around him, fuelling the imperative to fight.  
  
He swung his legs over the bed, bare feet on the cold stone. Grudgingly, he leant over to blow a small, controlled flame into the lantern beside him, dim yellow light falling across the sparse room as it lit. Sasuke pulled his katana fluidly from its sheath and sat there for a few moments to inspect the blade in his lap, turning it in the light of the lantern. He rubbed a bit of crusted blood from a few places and noticed a scratch that he would have to smooth tomorrow when he had the tools.  
  
It was nearly an hour later, wick in the lantern burning low, and Sasuke was panting, twirling around madly as he swept the sword through another invisible opponent. He had begun practicing katana sequences to clear his mind and had found his body tensed and quick with the blade. His fierce glare burned into the empty space ahead of him, the invisible organs that would be spilling out. He had been robbed of a kill today. Maybe if he—  
  
Sasuke quickly formed the familiar hand seals and there were two clones before him, images of his own barefoot form, black bangs hanging in their faces, the light of the lantern reflected in their dark pupils. Silently he willed them to transform, and there they were—Naruto and Sakura. He snarled, anger that he had calmly controlled all day overtaking him as he lunged at them with the sword.  
  
The clones ducked out of the path of the clumsy attack, tossing shuriken at him as they moved. It was a small space, and Sasuke wheeled around on them quickly. That shock of pink hair, gaze imploring—those wide, blue, hopeful eyes. Sasuke swept towards them again, movements more controlled this time, but he was slowed by his exhaustion from the battle that afternoon.  
  
“As if—” Sasuke grunted, narrowly missing Naruto’s leg as the clone leapt to crouch on the bed, just out of reach, “I actually—” he turned to Sakura, catching her by surprise and feeling his blade slip into the solid mass of her mid-section before the clone quickly disappeared, “—fucking care!” He punctuated the last word with a flare of electricity-charged chakra, unnecessary in such close quarters, as he dug his crackling fist into Naruto’s stomach. Wide blue eyes met his for a split second before the clone disappeared.  
  
Sasuke gritted his teeth against the sudden sharp pain in his midsection from the clones returning to him, stumbling backwards to hit the wall, the katana falling from his fingers and clattering noisily to the floor. He was breathing heavily, but he found that finishing the fight that had been so prematurely interrupted that afternoon did little to calm him. There was a burning at the pit of his stomach, and it didn’t appear to be the rage he had initially thought it to be.  
  
Something dawned on Sasuke as he considered this. He brought his hands together once more and that familiar form materialized, crouching low on the floor a few feet in front of him, one lazy eye regarding him expectantly, gloved hands hanging limply between legs from elbows propped on those bent knees.  
  
They remained that way for a long moment, staring at each other, waiting for the other to indicate what exactly the clone was here to do.  
  
_Does that mean Kakashi’s here as well?_  
  
Sasuke felt his chest rise and fall as he took a few measured breaths, eyes locked on his clone’s. He was so angry at himself for letting that question fall unchecked from his lips earlier that afternoon. He had seen the team from Konoha for less than five minutes, and already he had wanted that neutral grey gaze leveled at him—the _real_ one.  
  
“Yes, Sasuke?” Kakashi asked calmly, remaining crouched, head tilted back slightly to look up at the dark-haired ninja. It was a pose that usually indicated a shinobi tensed and ready to take action, but Sasuke’s clones had started emulating it because it had been something Kakashi had often done—and only the jounin could look like he was relaxing when in that stance.  
  
_Team Kakashi, huh?_  
  
Sasuke had felt something flare inside him when the ninja with the face-plate had introduced himself as Kakashi’s replacement. The fact that they continued to refer to themselves as _Team Kakashi_ even in the man's absence—Sasuke wasn’t sure what made him more angry: that they held on so tightly to those not even willing to join them in battle, or that they carried his name like an emblem of strength when Kakashi was the only one among them deserving of it.  
  
“You didn’t come,” Sasuke stated, voice quiet in the stillness of the room. The lantern flickered as the wick burnt lower, sputtering out on one end but re-igniting.  
  
Kakashi didn’t answer. Neither of them acknowledged that his silence was because it _wasn’t_ Kakashi crouching here. Neither of them understood why the jounin had not come with the others to find Sasuke.  
  
Sasuke walked slowly towards the clone, irrationally angry at it, unsettled by the hurt burning inside him that he realized was attributed to the shape his clone was borrowing. He shoved a bare heel against its chest, pushing roughly it so it tipped backwards. Kakashi’s arms fell behind him to brace against the stone, legs bent and spread out awkwardly on the floor in front of him. Sasuke removed his foot, stepping forward to stand with a leg on either side of the jounin’s thighs, hands limp at his side, face a stony mask as he looked down his nose at the clone.  
  
“Show some fucking respect,” he growled, not regretting his words because they felt right. The one person who had actually _understood_ how Sasuke trained, whose criticism and rare praise had spurned him to learn so much so quickly, wasn’t even interested in seeing how he had improved over the last two years.  
  
“How?”  
  
Sasuke narrowed his eyes in confusion before realizing the clone was answering his question. He hadn’t even meant it as a request, but then again this fabricated body strewn out across the stone at his feet belonged to _Sasuke_. He could use it as he pleased. Although _somehow_ —somehow the idea of shoving his sword through its gut didn’t seem like it would be enough.  
  
Kakashi rose to sit up straight, hands moving from behind him to rest on his thighs. His eye never left Sasuke’s, and Sasuke couldn’t help but notice there was a trace of guilt there—but of course there was, because that’s what Sasuke _wanted_ to see on Kakashi’s face.  
  
“How do you show respect?” Sasuke asked as anticipation flashed through him like an electrical surge, familiar with having this level of power over Orochimaru’s subordinates but not over this ex-ANBU body stretched out here before him. He wasn’t sure how he wanted the clone to take this. Sasuke had pulled this card on people before, on rare occasions throughout the past two years, encouraged by Orochimaru and the way the older man exerted power over others. He understood quite a diverse range of punishments—and sweat suddenly broke out across his palms as Sasuke considered the more _intimate_ punishments he had seen Orochimaru dole out to his subordinates.  
  
Kakashi was moving, and Sasuke was suddenly aware of his own heart like a jackhammer in his chest as the jounin drew his legs underneath him, rising onto his knees without breaking eye contact.  
  
_Clones_ , Sasuke reminded himself, trying to anticipate its course of action, _are nothing more than their creator. There are as many paths of action they can take as their creator could take._  
  
Would Sasuke, this clone’s creator, take that path? Would _he_ ever find himself on his knees before someone, considering this? It turned his stomach, because Sasuke couldn’t think of it being anyone other than Orochimaru. Sasuke would _never_ do it.  
  
But Kakashi’s hands were rising now, coming to rest on Sasuke’s hips, the gesture bizarre and the heat of his palms like fire, warming Sasuke’s skin even through the gloves and clothing. He was not used to this. _No one_ touched him without intent to harm. He narrowed his eyes at the clone, warning him, but Sasuke didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure yet what he wanted to say.  
  
“This is how I show respect,” Kakashi spoke simply, tugging at the correct spot to send the rope at Sasuke’s waist sliding off, coiling on the floor—and of course he knew where to tug, because the clone was _his_ —but the head of silvery-grey hair in line with his navel, the muscular width of shoulders under the green flak jacket, those were not Sasuke’s. Those were Kakashi’s.  
  
Sasuke sucked in a breath, chest filling and hitching there, almost as if to hollow out his stomach and get that much further from Kakashi’s touch. But those hands, larger than his own, bare calloused fingertips rough against the skin of his abdomen, were pulling open his pants. Sasuke squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the fabric slide partway down his thighs, cool air on his exposed and soft length.  
  
After a few moments of absolute stillness, Sasuke felt the air grow incrementally warmer. He forced his eyes open to glance down, seeing that masked face mere inches from a part of himself that he _never_ thought his old sensei would ever be so close to. He realized that the warmth was from Kakashi’s breath, coming in slow puffs through the mask.  
  
That unreadable gaze was still locked on his face, and Sasuke almost felt embarrassed at having closed his eyes a minute ago, realizing that the clone had been watching him. But then—Sasuke grunted, right hand moving too quickly for Kakashi to anticipate, whipping around to grab the hair at the nape of his neck and jerk the man’s head away from his crotch—why should Sasuke _care_ what the clone saw? It was his. And right now, Sasuke was in control.  
  
“Is this what you want?” Sasuke sneered, letting himself pretend that it was the real body of his former sensei before him and not a poor imitation from a genin’s memory. He gripped harder at that silvery-grey hair when the clone didn’t speak, and found himself grabbing Kakashi’s chin roughly between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand. “I _said_ —”  
  
“Yes,” Kakashi replied in a low and measured tone. “To show my respect.”  
  
“Good,” Sasuke grunted, noting how compliant his clone was with this new turn of events. He lifted and lowered Kakashi’s chin a few times experimentally, as if appraising him, forefinger straying to the top corner of his mask. Sasuke felt his heartbeat pick up again at the feeling of power, of control, over a man who was once his superior—and who was probably still a superior to many in Konoha.  
  
For Orochimaru to mock him about using Kakashi to train—for Sasuke to feel _hurt_ that the jounin didn’t come with the others today—it didn’t mean shit because Sasuke was not attached to this man. He was not Kakashi’s student anymore, and probably outstripped him now in strength and power. Sasuke felt his own mouth tug up into a smile as he hooked his finger into the fabric and pulled the mask slowly down. No, Kakashi was nothing more than a stepping stone now—his borrowed shape just another tool for Sasuke’s revenge.  
  
His bared face was nothing remarkable, but it was well-proportioned and seemed to make sense. Sasuke’s clone had nothing to base it on other than vague outlines and guesses. However, it didn’t matter what Kakashi’s mouth looked like because right now Sasuke was guiding it down onto his hardening cock.  
  
“Hm,” Sasuke breathed, feigning appraisal to hide the soft moan that had suddenly escaped from his lips. Kakashi was still, letting Sasuke guide him, and Sasuke felt himself bump up against the roof of the jounin’s warm mouth, scraping a few teeth. He frowned at the discomfort and yanked Kakashi’s head back by his hair, black eyes burning into him.  
  
“Lick your goddamn lips,” he growled, more comfortable speaking in tones of anger than instruction. Sasuke watched as Kakashi slowly ran a pink tongue across his top lip and then languidly across the bottom, leaving it wet and glistening—Sasuke’s cock twitched, full and hard and red, jutting out between them. He pulled Kakashi back down onto it roughly, the slide into that wet heat more smooth now. The jounin had to close his eyes, unable to meet Sasuke’s any longer when his nose was buried in the short hairs at the base of his length.  
  
Sasuke grunted as he felt himself hit the back of Kakashi’s throat and thrust again, forcing the other man to accommodate the intrusion. He was surprised when he felt a hum vibrate across his cock, realizing it was coming from Kakashi. Somehow the idea that the other ninja could be enjoying this angered Sasuke immensely. This was a show of _power_.  
  
He pulled Kakashi off him roughly and continued to grip his hair as he walked him towards the wall, the jounin crawling backwards on his knees, bumping up against Sasuke’s hardness by accident—and Sasuke felt like electricity had shot down his spine at the sensation of his own hard, wet-with-spit cock sliding across that soft cheek. There was something so sick and satisfying in seeing his own hardness against his old sensei’s face—against the face of a killer, a man revered by shinobi across the country. A man who was no longer in charge of Sasuke. When Kakashi’s back hit the stone wall, Sasuke moved closer, crowding him, overwhelming him. He untangled his fingers from Kakashi’s hair and placed his palms flat against the wall in front of himself, heavy gaze directed downwards.  
  
Kakashi didn’t need any more guidance. Unable to hold onto the front of Sasuke’s hips anymore because he was pinned against the wall, he snaked his hands up under Sasuke’s legs to grip his ass from behind, squeezing tightly as he swirled his tongue around that glistening tip. Sasuke suddenly reached down to grip the base of his cock firmly, pushing it around to smear a drop of precome across Kakashi’s parted lips, circling it in a perfect ‘O’. The thrill was something Sasuke had never even come _close_ to when dominating an opponent in battle. And something about that grey eye on his own, the body below him that hinted at the hidden strength of an assassin and a man at least a decade his senior—it was a heady mix.  
  
Sasuke let go of himself, curling his hand into a fist that he pressed against the wall, leaning his forehead against it as he looked down. He found himself sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and biting it lightly as Kakashi rubbed his own around the head of Sasuke’s cock.  
  
“I think you’ll find that I’ve—” Sasuke faltered in his confident tone as Kakashi’s gloved hand wrapped around him and began to pump firmly in time to the slow suction of his mouth up and down his length. “—I’ve grown since leaving.” Thinking of the chidori that he had spent weeks in the field mastering with the jounin, Sasuke felt compelled to continue, “and have done more with _your_ techniques than you ever could, Kakashi."  
  
He thrust harshly with his hips as he said that, slipping deep into that heat and causing the clone to gag before quickly opening his jaw wider and casting a glance up at him with that one grey eye. Sasuke groaned and ground his hips forward, feeling the smack of Kakashi’s head against the solid stone. He wanted to pound into the jounin’s mouth, throwing him up against the stone without concern, but the last thing Sasuke wanted was to have the clone suddenly dissipate—he _did_ understand the tenuous link he was still holding to reality in between the play-acting.  
  
“I’m stronger than Naruto and Sakura now,” Sasuke spoke, mouth hanging open as he watched his hard length disappear into the impossibly hot wetness of Kakashi’s mouth before pulling out again. “Really, you couldn’t have done better with them?” He huffed, and felt himself smiling. “Are you slipping these days, Kakashi?”  
  
A hand slid down from his ass to cup Sasuke’s sac, rolling it lightly in that large, warm hand, a mix of skin and the soft leather of his gloved palm. Sasuke stopped thrusting and Kakashi quickly leaned forward to take over, lips wrapped wide around him they slid along him with impossible speed, other gloved hand pumping at the base. Sasuke involuntarily hunched forward, pleasure spreading up his back and out across his shoulders, other hand from the wall pushing into his own hair, sliding into the sweaty strands sticking to the back of his neck and gripping them tightly.  
  
“Or maybe you’ve given up—ung” Sasuke grunted much more loudly than he would have preferred as Kakashi doubled the grip on the base of his cock, Sasuke’s eyes rolling back into this head and lids falling shut. He struggled to find his control, to find the words he was saying that kept him rooted to this moment—to this power play. “I was the best student you had, wasn’t I? It was no secret that I was your favourite. That you thought you could train me _and_ fix me. And now,” he paused for a deep breath because he was sucking air in, breathing shallow, “I’m stronger than you. And you’re scared. You’re too _chickenshit_ to come see me.”  
  
Kakashi didn’t respond, and Sasuke was thankful for that because he wasn’t sure the real Kakashi _would_. Sasuke panted across the stone wall, moisture beading on its surface from the proximity of his breath. He grunted again, opening his eyes once more to look down. In the dim light of the room all he saw was the faint outline of strong, wide shoulders and the pale, calloused fingers wrapped at his base as Kakashi’s head bobbed up and down on his cock, silvery-grey hair displaced and falling into his face with the movement.  
  
Sasuke gasped, desperate for breath, feeling a rushing white heat suddenly encompass him, sweat breaking out across his back, and he didn’t give Kakashi any warning—didn’t _want_ to—before he came, pleasure gripping him almost violently as he pistoned his hips roughly into that warm mouth, emptying himself. He barely registered that halfway through his orgasm the wet heat suddenly disappeared, clone vanished with the too-violent impact. Sasuke couldn’t stop himself as he thrust forward into the air a few more times, eyes squeezed shut, smearing the remainder of his seed onto the cool stone as he bumped lightly up against the wall.  
  
He stayed hunched in that position, buttocks still clenched and forehead resting against his fist, for a long time. When he had his breathing under control he took a step back, averting his gaze from the sticky white strand connecting his now-soft length to the substance on the wall. He pulled his pants up and gripped the bunched fabric in one hand, stumbling on the overlong hem before climbing onto the bed, rolling to his side to face the wall.  
  
“I’m stronger now,” he repeated quietly to himself, unfocussed eyes on the intricately carved stone, mind frozen in a place from minutes ago, a place of sweat and building heat and that undeniable thrilling and addictive surge of power. “Kakashi- _sensei_.”  
  
Sasuke grunted, eyes slipping shut as he settled in bed for the second time that night. Finally, mind and body exhausted, he fell into sleep.  
  


 

END


End file.
